The Losing Side
by Supervillegirl
Summary: Molly receives a strange message after the phone call in TFP, prompting her to rush to Sherlock's aide. S4 SPOILERS!
1. Chapter 1

The Losing Side

 **This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it ended up being really long.**

* * *

The phone clicked in her ear, and Molly Hooper slowly lowered it, trying and failing to hold back the tears. Why? Why had she said it? Why had she allowed herself to be manipulated by him yet again? Didn't she swear to herself that she wouldn't let him use her like that ever again? Why did her heart have to betray her like this?

Molly set her phone onto the kitchen counter, staring down at it.

" _Hello."_

Molly jumped as she looked up at the television in her sitting room that had just flipped on by itself. Her jaw dropped at the face staring back at her from it.

" _My name's Jim Moriarty,"_ said the man on the screen. _"Welcome…to the final problem."_

Frowning, Molly stepped around the counter and began moving towards the television.

" _Please say hullo to some very old friends of mine,"_ said Moriarty.

The screen instantly flipped over to what was obviously security camera footage of a small, dimly lit room with black walls and floor and no window. In the middle of the room resting on two trestles was a light brown wooden coffin with brass handles and no lid. Light shone down onto it. The lid of the coffin was propped up against the far wall, its underside facing the room. Sherlock Holmes suddenly walked into view, looking down into the coffin and then raising his head to look for the light source. John Watson and Mycroft Holmes followed him into the room, each moving around it.

Molly stopped and glanced around her before staring at the television screen, deeply confused. Who was doing all of this?

A woman's voice suddenly came over the speakers, sounding like it was coming from speakers inside the room itself. _"One more minute on the phone."_

The speakers squealed momentarily, and a little girl's voice came from them. _"Frightened. I'm really frightened."_

Sherlock closed his eyes. "It's okay, don't worry. I don't have very long with you, so I just need you to tell me what you can see outside the plane."

" _Just the sea,"_ said the girl. _"I can see the sea."_

"Are there ships on it?"asked Sherlock.

" _No ships. I can see lights in the distance."_

"Is it a city?"

" _I think so,"_ said the girl.

Sherlock turned and looked at John, who was standing beside him at the side of the coffin.

Mycroft, standing at the other side, spoke quietly. "She's about to fly over a city in a pilotless plane. We'll have to talk her through it."

"Through what?" asked John quietly.

" _Hello?"_ asked the girl. _"Are you still there?"_

"Still here," said Sherlock. "Just give us a minute."

"Getting the plane away from any mainland, any populated areas," said Mycroft quietly. "It _has_ to crash in the sea."

"What about the girl?" asked John.

"Well, obviously, Dr. Watson, she's the one who's going to crash it," said Mycroft.

"No," muttered John. "W-we could help her land it."

"And if we fail, and she crashes into a city?" Mycroft muttered. "How many will die then?"

"How are we gonna get her to do that?" asked John.

Mycroft looked down towards the coffin. "I'm afraid we're going to have to give her hope."

Molly shook her head as she watched the whole exchange. Just what in God's name had they gotten themselves into?

Sherlock raised his voice so the girl could hear. "Is there really no one there that can help you? Have you really, _really_ checked?"

" _Everyone's asleep,"_ said the girl. _"Will you help me?"_

"We're going to do everything that we can," said Sherlock.

" _I'm scared,"_ said the girl. _"I'm really scared."_

"It's all right," said Sherlock. "I…" He stopped when there was a click on the speakers.

The screen suddenly split; the footage of the room now covered the bottom half of the screen, and the top half now showed a woman with pale skin, dark hair and blue eyes.

"Now, back to the matter in hand," said the woman, leaning closer to the camera. "Coffin. Problem: someone is about to die. It will be—as I understand it—a tragedy."

Sherlock walked around to the head of the coffin, rubbing at his brow as he turned to look at it.

The woman looked away from the camera with a fake sad expression. "So many days not lived, so many words unsaid." She looked back to the camera with a more genuine sarcastic look on her face. "Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera—"

"Yes, yes, yes, and this—I presume—will be their coffin," Sherlock interrupted, exasperated.

" _Whose_ coffin, Sherlock?" asked the woman. "Please, start your deductions. I will apply some context in a moment."

Molly slowly eased herself down to sit on the coffee table behind her. This woman, the way she just hurled this situation at them—she was even more psychotic than Moriarty had been. Why did Sherlock always have to attract the worst of them?

Sherlock had been pacing around, but now, he turned towards the coffin again and blew out a noisy breath. "Well, allowing for the entirely pointless courtesy of headroom, I'd say this coffin is intended for someone of about five foot four. Makes it more likely to be a woman."

"Not a child?" asked John.

"A child's coffin would be more expensive," said Sherlock. "This is in the lower price range, although still best available in that bracket."

"A lonely night on Google," muttered John sarcastically.

Molly's mouth tugged into a smirk at the joke.

"This is a practical and informed choice," said Sherlock. "Balance of probability suggests that this is for an unmarried woman distant from her close relatives. That much is suggested by the economy of choice."

"Acquainted with the process of death but unsentimental about the necessity of disposal," said Sherlock, still concentrating on the coffin itself. "Also, the lining of the coffin—"

"Yes, very good, Sherlock, or we could just look at the name on the lid," interrupted Mycroft, who had moved to it and was now turning it towards the others.

They walked closer to look at it. There seemed to be a brass plate on the front of it, but it was too small to make it out from the video.

"Only it isn't a name," said Mycroft.

Sherlock took a moment to look at it and then turned away, his eyes closed.

"So, it's for somebody who loves somebody," said John.

"It's for somebody who loves Sherlock," said Mycroft. "This is all about you. Everything here."

Sherlock walked slowly back to the coffin and put his hands on top of it at the feet end.

"So, who loves you?" asked Mycroft. "I'm assuming it's not a long list."

Sherlock gazed intensely into the coffin.

Molly's eyes widened as she realized just whose coffin that was. _**I'm**_ _a part of this? That woman is coming for me?_ She glanced all around her, but knew that it wouldn't do any good to try to prepare if someone as evidently intelligent as this woman was after her.

"Irene Adler," said John.

Molly looked back at the video.

"Don't be ridiculous," said Sherlock. "Look at the coffin. Unmarried, practical about death, alone."

John's eyes widened. "Molly."

"Molly Hooper," said Sherlock.

On the screen, the dark-haired woman leaned forward. "She's perfectly safe, for the moment."

The split video screen disappeared, and the footage switched to four images from camera footage of the interior of Molly's own house. In the top right-hand corner, a countdown clock appeared, currently fixed at 03:00.

"Her flat is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes…" said the woman's voice.

Molly gasped and fought the urge to run. There had to be a reason why she was watching this. If she left now, would that anger the woman? Would she kill the three of them in retaliation? Whatever would happen, she had to play along.

The footage of her flat switched back to the footage of the room, this time filling the whole screen except for the bottom corner, where the 03:00 countdown clock was situated. Sherlock was now standing at the edge of the video, watching something off screen.

 _Of course,_ Molly thought. They were seeing the footage of her flat. They could see her right now. She glanced up towards where the footage had shown the camera would be, but she could see nothing.

"…unless I hear the release code from her lips," said the woman's voice. "I'm calling her on your phone, Sherlock. Make her say it."

Molly looked back at the kitchen counter, where her phone was sitting. She stood and retrieved it, hurrying back to the sitting room and standing in front of the television.

"Say what?" asked John.

Sherlock pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, lowering his head.

"Obvious, surely?" said the woman.

John shook his head. "No."

"Yes." Sherlock turned to look at the coffin lid, now leaning against the wall with the top facing them.

The other two turned to follow his gaze before Sherlock turned around again. Molly still couldn't see what was written on the plate, but it was obviously the code she was meant to say. Which didn't make any sense at all. Why would this woman be showing the footage to her so that she knew she had to say this code word? All she would have to do as soon as she answered the phone and Sherlock told her to say it was to say the words and it would all be over. Unless it was just to mess with the three men in that room. Perhaps this woman wanted to make them sweat for a bit without actually killing anyone? But again, that didn't make any sense either.

"Oh, one important restriction: you're not allowed to mention in any way at all that her life is in danger," said the woman. "You may not—at any point—suggest that there is any form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session and her life. Are we clear?"

Sherlock nodded, and the multiple tones of a speed dial ringing out could be heard. At the same time, the clock on the screen began its countdown.

Moriarty's voice issued from the speakers. _"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick."_

The phone connected and started ringing out on the screen. Molly looked down at her phone, but nothing happened. Frowning, she looked back up at the screen, where she could hear the sound of her phone ringing. Still, nothing happened. Then, her eyes widened in realization at the fact that she had just gotten off of the phone with Sherlock.

" _I'm calling her on your phone, Sherlock," said the woman. "Make her say it."_

" _Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words," Sherlock told her. "Just…say those words for me. It's_ very _important. I can't say why, but I promise you it is."_

Molly's jaw dropped as she looked back up at the screen. This phone call had already happened. She was seeing footage of why Sherlock made that phone call.

Sherlock shifted his footing and frowned at the screen as the phone continued to ring. He frowned at the screen he was watching. "What's she doing?"

"She's making tea," said Mycroft.

Sherlock looked round to him as the countdown reached 02:39. "Yes, but why isn't she answering her phone?"

"You never answer _your_ phone," said John.

Sherlock looked at the screen again. "Yes, but it's _me_ calling."

Molly let out a shaky breath. She remembered that; she remembered not answering on the first call. If only she had realized at the time what had been at stake. _Oh, God…_

The countdown clock reached 02:27 as her phone went to voicemail.

" _Hi, this is Molly, at the dead center of town,"_ said her voice.

Sherlock sighed and turned away from the screen.

" _Leave a message,"_ continued the voicemail message.

The buzzing from the speakers suggested that the woman had terminated the call. Sherlock ran his hand over his mouth.

"Okay, okay," said the woman. "Just one more time."

The speed dial could be heard dialing out. Sherlock drew in a long breath through his nose as Molly's phone started to ring again. The countdown was at 02:12.

Despite the fact that Molly was still alive and had obviously given the code phrase in time, Molly held her breath as she waited with the three of them.

John shuffled on the spot, his voice quiet and tight. "Come on, Molly, pick up. Just bloody pick up."

Sherlock held the pistol in both hands and had lowered his forehead onto the top of it. He lifted his head when the line finally connected.

" _Hello, Sherlock,"_ came Molly's voice over the speakers. _"Is this urgent, 'cause I'm not having a good day."_

"Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me and not ask why," said Sherlock rapidly.

Molly's voice sighed in exasperation. _"Oh, God. Is this one of your stupid games?"_

"No, it's not a game," said Sherlock. "I…need you to help me."

" _Look, I'm not at the lab,"_ said Molly.

"It's not about that," said Sherlock.

" _Well, quickly, then,"_ said Molly.

Sherlock blinked rapidly and bit his lips.

" _Sherlock?"_ said Molly in exasperation. _"What is it? What do you want?"_

The lights in the room turned red, and Moriarty's voice came over the speakers once again. _"Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick."_ The lights turned white again.

"Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words," said Sherlock.

" _What words?"_ asked Molly.

"I love you," said Sherlock clearly.

Molly's voice hesitated for a moment before speaking. _"Leave me alone."_

Sherlock gestured frantically towards the screen, raising his voice. "Molly, no, _please_ , no, don't hang up! Do _not_ hang up!"

"Calmly, Sherlock, or I _will_ finish her right now," said the woman's voice.

The countdown clock ticked down to 01:08.

" _Why are you doing this to me?"_ asked Molly. _"Why are you making fun of me?"_

"Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me," said Sherlock quietly.

"Softer, Sherlock!" said the woman.

Sherlock's gaze tracked towards the camera and then looked at the screen again. He raised his tone to sound a little friendlier. "Molly, this is for a case. It's…it's a sort of experiment."

" _I'm not an experiment, Sherlock,"_ said Molly.

Sherlock's eyes widened in panic. "No, I know you're not an experiment. You're my friend. We're friends. But…please. Just…say those words for me."

" _Please don't do this. Just…just…don't do it."_

Sherlock forced a smile into his voice. "It's _very_ important. I can't say why, but I promise you it is."

" _I can't say that,"_ said Molly. _"I can't…I can't say that to you."_

Sherlock still smiled to make his voice sound friendly. "Of _course_ you can. _Why_ can't you?"

" _You_ know _why."_

Sherlock's smiled dropped in his puzzlement. "No, I _don't_ know why."

Molly sighed heavily over the phone. _"Of course you do."_

The lights turned red, and Sherlock screwed up his eyes and lowered his head.

" _Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tick-tick-tick…"_

The lights turned white again.

Sherlock raised his head and closed his eyes again for a brief moment. "Please, just say it."

" _I can't,"_ said Molly with a sigh in her voice. _"Not to you."_

"Why?" asked Sherlock.

Molly's voice broke. _"Because…because it's true."_ Her voice became an almost silent whisper. _"Because…it's…true, Sherlock."_

Sherlock stared at the screen, wide-eyed.

Molly's voice dropped to a whisper. _"It's_ always _been true."_

Sherlock's face straightened, and he looked at the screen emotionlessly. "Well, if it's true, just say it anyway."

Molly laughed in disbelief and heaved a heavy sigh. _"You bastard."_

"Say it anyway," said Sherlock firmly. He stared intensely at the screen, but his face turned to shock when she spoke.

"You _say it,"_ said Molly. _"Go on. You say it first."_

Sherlock almost turned to look at John for an explanation but turned back to the screen, frowning and squinting in confusion. "What?"

" _Say it,"_ said Molly flatly, her voice softening. _"Say it like you mean it."_

Startled, Sherlock looked up towards the camera.

"Final thirty seconds," said the woman.

The countdown on the screen had dropped from 00:31 and continued downwards.

Sherlock faced the screen, his eyes closed. He took a breath, summoning the strength to say the words. "I-I…" He had lowered his head but then raised it. "I love you." He opened his eyes and looked towards the screen, his voice softening. "I love you." He waited a moment, looking at the screen anxiously. "Molly?"

The countdown reached 00:13.

Sherlock stepped closer to the screen, his expression frantic. "Molly, _please_."

The three of them stared at the screen for a long while before Molly's voice finally came over the speakers once again, her voice barely audible. _"I love you."_

Sherlock gasped and reared back from the screen as the countdown clock beeped several times to signify that it had stopped at 00:02.

Molly let out her held breath along with him. She took several breaths as she watched him, surprised at the amount of emotion that had flitted across his face in those three minutes.

Sherlock buried his head in both hands, bending forward. He then lifted his head and straightened up, sighing out loudly and looking exhausted.

Mycroft walked towards him. "Sherlock, however hard that was…"

Sherlock tiredly looked towards the camera on the wall. "Eurus, I won. I won."

There was no response.

"Come on, play fair," said Sherlock more strongly. "The girl on the plane. I need to talk to her."

Molly eased closer to the screen, staring at it. With Sherlock looking towards the camera, he seemed to be staring right at her. And the intensity in his gaze was almost overwhelming. She could see how thin that strength was, that it would snap with the slightest provocation.

"I won," said Sherlock. "I saved Molly Hooper."

The woman, Eurus, made a disparaging sound and reappeared on the top half of the screen. "Saved her? From what? Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little house. Why would I be so clumsy? You _didn't_ win. You lost."

Sherlock frowned a little.

"Look what you did to her," said Eurus. "Look what you did to yourself."

Sherlock turned away.

"All those complicated little emotions," said Eurus. "I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you _every_ time."

Sherlock walked past the coffin, noisily dropping the pistol down beside it and continuing towards the lid propped up against the wall.

Eurus sat back in her chair. "Now, please, pull yourself together. I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn't going to be so easy. In your own time."

The screen filled with the footage from the room.

Sherlock picked up the lid and turned and walked towards the coffin while Mycroft and John headed out of frame. Molly raised her hands towards her mouth, but it didn't quite make it. It hovered in front of her chest as Sherlock put the lid into place on top of the coffin, resting his hand on the top and slowly drawing it across towards him, his eyes lowered as he breathed out what was almost a quiet sob.

"No," said Sherlock. "No."

His face started to twist with rage, and he pulled back his right arm and smashed it with all his strength down onto the lid, shattering it. Molly jumped at the sound, her hand rising to her mouth and covering it. Sherlock drew back his hand and then slammed both fists down onto the lid again and again. He then seized the side of the coffin and lifted the whole thing before smashing it down repeatedly on top of the trestles, disintegrating the box into pieces while he cried out over and over again in rage, grief and frustration. Eventually, he let out a long, anguished scream, which echoed through the room.

As the splinters and shards fell around him, he stumbled back and hit the wall, sliding down it to the floor, his limbs completely giving up. He stayed that way for a long moment, unable to bring himself to move. Molly's hand slowly fell from her mouth, tears in her eyes. How much had she already put them through before this? How much more was she going to do to them? The tears began falling in earnest as she realized that this was what they were going through this very second. Was someone on their way to help them, to rescue them?

John walked onto the screen, avoiding all the splintered wood lying around, and bent down to pick up the pistol from the floor. Straightening up, he cleared his throat softly and walked across to where Sherlock was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. His legs were bent up in front of him, and his wrists rested on the tops of his knees. His head was lowered, and he was staring at the floor in front of him, breathing heavily with a distressed look on his face.

John stopped a few paces in front of him, speaking firmly in a soft voice. "Look, I know this is difficult, and I know you're being tortured, but you have got to keep it together."

Sherlock didn't lift his head. "This isn't torture; this is vivisection. We're experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats." He breathed out loudly and raised his head to rest it against the wall behind him, gazing upwards. He glanced off to the side and then swallowed and looked up at John. "Soldiers?"

John nodded. "Soldiers." He bent down and held out his hand to Sherlock, who took it with his own. John pulled him to his feet.

Sherlock buttoned his jacket, and they walked side-by-side to the corner of the room, John holding out the pistol and Sherlock taking it as they went. Just as they disappeared from the screen, the lights turned red, and Moriarty's voice returned.

" _Tick-tock, tickets please!"_

The television turned off suddenly, but all Molly could do was sit and watch the black screen. She had never seen Sherlock so open and vulnerable before. The man who put up a mask to anyone and everyone had just broken down to pieces. He had completely opened himself up and laid himself bare in order to save her, and this woman, this Eurus, had taken that heart and crushed, stabbed and ripped it to pieces.

Molly's gaze fell to the floor, thinking about Sherlock and wondering how close he—and John and Mycroft—were to rescue. What else would he be required to endure? She had no way of knowing, but she did know one thing. Whenever this ended and whenever he got out of it, she would be there to pick up the pieces.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sherlock hauled himself up the steps of 221B Baker Street, dragging his feet in exhaustion. He had just seen John back to his flat, where Mrs. Hudson had been watching over Rosie. The reunion was heartwarming, and, yes, he did admit so. It even made him wish he had someone like that to go home to. Instead, all he had was a burned-out, nearly destroyed flat. Thankfully, the grenade had only touched the sitting room and a bit of the landing and kitchen. His bedroom was untouched, and that was his first destination. He could really go for a week-long coma right about now. John was reunited with his daughter, Mycroft was at his office running damage control, and Eurus was back at Sherrinford. And he was back home…alone.

The thoughts of John with his family brought back the memory of the phone call with Molly. It was too painful to even think about. What he had put her through…

Sherlock shook his head to dispel the memory as he reached his front door. The floor, walls and ceiling were blackened halfway across the landing, so he decided to forego the sitting room entirely and entered through the kitchen door. Sidestepping the table, chairs and dishes scattered over the floor from the force of the blast, he headed down the hall, walked to his bedroom door and opened it. Taking a couple steps inside, he froze with his hand on the doorknob.

Molly sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. Sherlock stared at her for a good ten seconds, unable to process it. Was this his mind palace? It couldn't be. But, why else would she be here?

Before he could think about asking that question himself, Molly stood and walked towards him, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. Sherlock stood in shock for a moment, wondering what she was doing, why she was hugging him. He tensed as he prepared to pull away from her, but she only tightened her grip, not letting him go.

"It's all right," she told him. "It's over. It's all over."

Sherlock was frozen in confusion. What could she possibly mean? She couldn't know everything that had happened at Sherrinford yet. _Was_ this his mind palace?

"You're out," Molly whispered. "Eurus can't hurt you here."

Sherlock's eyes widened as his heart started pounding at the mention of his sister's name. _How could she know?_ _ **How**_ _?_

"Just let it go," she told him.

And just like that, the magic that was Molly Hooper reached through his mask, and he felt every bit of torture he'd had to endure that day—all the tests, all the exhaustion, all the emotional hoops he had jumped through—catch up with him in a single moment. The tension fled him in an instant, and his tense shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh. He all but collapsed into Molly's embrace as he wrapped his own arms around her. He lowered his head to her shoulder as the exhaustion filled him so full that his knees buckled.

"Hey," said Molly as she tightened her grip, steadying him on his feet. "Hey." She led them towards the bed and sat them on the edge of it, never once letting him out of her embrace.

Sherlock clutched her closer to him as an ache worked its way into his throat. No matter how much he gulped in the oxygen, the ache only got worse. As he let out a deep breath, it caught in his throat, and he pushed past the lump in his throat, causing it to sound like a sob. But it wasn't. It absolutely wasn't. He would not allow himself to cry.

"It's okay," Molly told him, her hand reaching up and stroking through his hair. "It's just me. It's okay."

And once again, she did it. Sherlock let out a choked breath as the tears and sobs came. His grip on Molly tightened, and the entire day flooded him. His lost and broken sister Eurus. The games he'd had to endure. Hurling Molly's deepest desire in her face. Having to choose between killing his brother Mycroft and his best friend John. Finding and losing his first best friend Victor all over again. Was this to always be his life? Was he meant to forever endanger his friends' lives?

When the tears finally stopped, Sherlock became aware of the fact that he was lying down. At some point, he and Molly had shifted so that they were lying on the bed. Sherlock was still gripping her tight, and Molly was still stroking her hand through his hair to soothe him. And surprisingly, he felt better. He had never really believed when people said that airing out their feelings made them feel better. He had believed it all to be sentimental nonsense. But it was true. The weight from his chest had lessened considerably. And it was all thanks to the one woman who counted.

"How do you do it?" he asked.

Molly paused in her ministrations. "Do what?"

Sherlock pulled back so that he could look at her. "See me."

Molly's frown softened.

"You always manage to see exactly what I need," Sherlock told her. "How do you do it?"

Molly stared at him for a moment before answering. "You know how."

 _Molly's voice finally came over the speakers once again, her voice barely audible. "I love you."_

Sherlock's gaze fell a little, unable to look her in the eye. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to be brought into this."

"Hey," said Molly firmly.

Sherlock's eyes met hers.

"This was **not** your fault," she told him. "You did nothing wrong. This was all that woman's fault—Eurus. Not you."

Sherlock stared into her eyes, amazed at the sincerity, the certainty, that he had not hurt her at all. She was so amazingly brave. "How did you know? About Eurus. About…everything."

Molly slowly nodded. "After our call was disconnected, my television turned on. On it was the footage from inside that room, the room with the coffin. I saw everything, from when the three of you came in to when you left."

Sherlock frowned in confusion. "That…doesn't make any sense. Why would she send you that footage?"

Molly gave a shrug. "Perhaps she wanted to hurt you but not me?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, can't be it. She's killed people. A lot of people."

"Who is she?" asked Molly. "Was she one of Moriarty's people?"

Sherlock shook his head again. "Eurus is…" He gave a sigh. "She's my sister."

Molly's jaw dropped. "What?"

Sherlock jumped right into it, telling her the whole horrid story. Once he started talking, it just kept coming and coming, another weight he was letting off of his shoulders.

"So now, she's back in Sherrinford," Sherlock finished. "Safe and sound."

Molly had stayed silent throughout the whole thing, listening with rapt attention to it all. "I'm so sorry. You were so young."

"So was she," Sherlock muttered, his gaze dropping.

"Are you going to be all right?" asked Molly.

Sherlock stared down at their joined hands between them, thinking back to that phone call.

" _You lost," said Eurus. "All those complicated little emotions. I lost count. Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time."_

" _Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side," said Sherlock._

" _You lost," said Eurus._

Sherlock shook his head slightly. _No, I didn't. My sentiment saved her. If she was ever in any real danger, my_ sentiment _would have saved her._

He looked back at Molly. "No. No, I'm not going to be all right. Not unless I make this right."

Molly frowned, unsure of what he was talking about.

"When Eurus told me that you had never been in any danger, that it had all been a game to hurt us, I swore that I would never do that to you again," Sherlock told her. "It's only the truth, from here on out."

"Okay…" said Molly, waiting for him to get to his point.

"And so…I'm no expert in this particular emotion…but I can think of no other word to describe what I feel for you than love."

Molly took in a soft breath at the declaration.

"I think I was telling the truth in that phone call," said Sherlock. "I think…I love you."

Molly stared at him for a moment before reaching forward and brushing the curls off of his forehead. "I think…somehow…I always knew."

Sherlock smiled at her as he placed a hand on the side of her face, brushing her hair back.

Molly smiled back at him. "And I think I love you, too."

Chuckling, Sherlock pulled her close for a kiss, vowing as he did so that he would never let anything like this happen to her again. He had never been so happy to be on the losing side.

* * *

 **I don't care if my characters were a little out of character. I liked it. And I didn't explain why Eurus put the footage on Molly's TV, but you guys can just draw your own conclusions.**


End file.
